


Be Good and Live It Well

by Breezytealy



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 01:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18001046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breezytealy/pseuds/Breezytealy
Summary: Man continues to be a brooding dimwit despite it not being in his best interests.





	Be Good and Live It Well

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Groundbreaking Science: The Guide to Ki-Control -- Son Gohan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10951899) by [Breezytealy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breezytealy/pseuds/Breezytealy). 



> Happy birthday, Munchkinkittyhams!

Both the landing pad and roof terrace could be freezing in the bite of the wind this high up, but tonight the air was holding itself near-still - even outside Trunks’ cosy nook. The gentlest of breezes fluttered its way passed the nets to tousle Trunks’ bangs, carrying with it the sweet scent of Mai’s potted jasmines protected by the balcony wall, the flowers just opening as the night drew in. The wind staying its hand to not add further to the chill was a blessing - since his banishment to the terrace of his own apartment roof had reached an hour and counting.

He _could_ ask for a jacket. Technically going downstairs to knock on the sliding door wasn't "coming back". In fact, Trunks could probably message Mai or any number of the people he suspected were in the apartment too, though he didn’t want to interrupt whatever was going on and draw her ire.

So instead he stubbornly continued to reheat himself with his ki, circulating more than he needed to the tips of his fingers and toes and instructing it to _warm_.

It was no big drain or effort to do so, only it kept the calming jasmine and hum of the world below from carrying him into a doze. And with nothing to entertain him (all news and emails read) he had repeatedly found himself dwelling again, taking out the talisman of red fabric to hold it near his mouth in a kind of tender prayer. Any attempt to distract himself with reading the ki of the city below wound him further. Maybe he should--

As if in answer to his agitation a light _pad pad pad_ across the decking drew Trunks from his ruminations - the footsteps of a cat. The nets parted as the shadow slunk through. Mewsli made a beeline towards his favourite cushioned chair in the nook, which happened to be the exact one Trunks was lounging across.

In appearance Mewsli was very much like Trunks’ grandpa’s old cat Scratch; a smaller than average black shorthair, all doey-eyed and a prolific climber. Perhaps that’s why the cat had taken up residence here, knowing it to be the highest home in the city. They’d won his affection through shameless bribery, one now reflected in a growing chub, prompting Goten to suggest he took after Trunks. Trunks suggested Goten keep his stupid thoughts to himself with a punch to the gut. In truth the cat was a ragged and resourceful stray, able to punch above his weight and make the best of an opportunity when it presented itself, and for that Trunks thought Mewsli took more after Mai.

She, thank God, hadn't taken offence at that.

Trunks found himself smiling down at his exile-in-arms and Mewsli returned it as a slow blink, black tail curling backwards and forwards in anticipation.

“You too, huh?”

Mewsli wrapped himself around Trunks’ leg with a purr of agreement, or contentment most likely, and Trunks palmed the red fabric, leaning forward to play with the cat’s ears. There wasn’t much up here for a cat to do either but they had each other for distraction now, so together they watched the final dregs of light drain below the horizon - Trunks’ thirty-second birthday drawing, he hoped, to a mercifully uneventful close.

Year on year the battle would begin some weeks before the date itself. Those around him with a sense of pomp and occasion would cajole him into agreeing to a breathtakingly ridiculous party of sorts. Of sorts, as it was never a party for him. The who’s who of the world would of course clamour to attend such a pointedly opulent affair - afterall, why would the heir-come-CEO of Capsule Corp put on anything less? That meant the nights leading up to the event drilling the guests’ names, faces and recent achievements, his circulation through the crowd planned in meticulous detail. Even his conversation would be honed with the intention to maintain both the company’s dominant image and his own bemusingly suave one, all while sipping showy - if mediocre to his palette - sparkling wines. Stories of golf and tennis with business partners would need to be retold at the right time to the right people, triggering the right placations as Capsule Corp walked the tightrope between ubiquity and a multi-sector monopoly.

He'd hardly have time to register the entreés whirling past, the chamber music blurring into famous musicians drunkenly karaoking to their own songs as the night drew on, the number of glasses he'd clink and first sip from, then give into demands to knock back in the smallest hours. He'd maintain his head at all times though, barely ever more than loosening his tie by evening’s end to cool off, knowing it wasn't just his reputation on the line but the livelihoods of millions.

In short - flashy parties were hard work, ones on his birthday doubly so. Threatening to snap and tell anyone who’d listen how to most effectively wield a sword against someone twice their size usually earned him a private (if still embarrassingly lavish) celebration with close friends and family every few years. It was a game of give and take he'd grown used to playing in his position.

But this year it had not been up for debate. His age was a bell’s toll portending certain doom to him, one he could not shake despite the reassurances all those years ago. Last birthday he’d argued for a small affair and spent most of the day then months after chewing over his growing distraction. _Tick tock tick tock_ , every moment of every day the _what if_ growing in shadow length upon the back of his mind to culminate in today, an all or nothing.

This year he should have accepted his duty to celebrate, but he had no mind to plan or prepare, fatigued from more and more nights plagued with fitful terrors. He’d asked instead to stay in his apartment and skip the whole day, _to be ready for the worst case_ , he'd reasoned to himself. Worryingly, no one fought him on it, his mother and Mai agreeing immediately, a softness in their responses that unnerved Trunks. Even Bra did no more than scoff at the missed opportunity to show off.

Maybe they all knew, had been counting those chimes year on year too, his preoccupation shared. Or maybe despite his intended nonchalance they’d sensed his trepidation over the matter - he’d never been good at hiding his moods.

With the nets obscuring the night sky proper and those tendrils of uncertainty creeping back in, he left the nook - Mewsli jumping to his spot to curl up in the heat Trunks would be leaving behind.

He made his way to the jasmine plants and leant on the balcony wall proper, scanning that horizon and taking full stock of the city. Only the faintest of acrid tastes found its way from the North’s industrial district, the rest of the pollution metallic fumes from the classic cars this upmarket area of town clung to. The busy but calm streets below smoothed themselves to a fervent hum this high up. There was no stench of fire, no screams, no cold void from a diminished sense of life like today would have been in _his_ time, in _his_ Universe - if today had existed at all.

 _He'd_ got out. at least. He’d be somewhere safe now, where life was still restoring itself from events over thirty years previously, an ever-growing in colour and joy as the world lay blissfully unaware of its second apocalypse, just like this world today was ignorant of the potential first.

There was no crimson glow to be found along the western horizon, only the flashing of distant aircraft warning lights and Venus hanging in the sky as a reflected crescent, reassuring him that the Sun was still somewhere and sunset wasn’t a cruel trick of the clouds. Trunks knew he was born just past seven, and his counterpart had told him that he too had been born on this same date in the the twilight hours, and so if the Sun had truly set… Nothing. They’d been spared.

It was over. It was finally over.

Trunks laughed as the weight lifted. For a moment he forgot who he was, as though all responsibility had bowed out and he’d been freed completely, the trappings of his status gone too. It left him dazed, punch-drunk even.

Though as he spun in the reverie the memory of that night seventeen years ago came into view, when he and his elder counterpart had hung over this same city and the man had pressed into him how fragile it all was, how Trunks’ duty was to do what he couldn’t with the friends around him the man had never had. The buildings were taller now, and the lights subtler in places as they pointed down to preserve the beauty of the night sky - the harsh blues, reds and sodium of the past replaced by kinder, paler pin pricks, a mirror to the river of stars one would see outside the city. Still, their conversation echoed. Trunks didn’t push his responsibility away in fear but greeted it as an old friend, a tamed beast now, manageable if still monumental.

The fabric was out again, with a start Trunks saw he’d curled it around his fingers, far too rough a treatment for something so precious. He released it to flatten. A tug at his chest pushed him to say something, anything, as though in this moment the words would defy physics to carry through time and dimension.

“Thank you.” His high had faded back to leave only a lump in his throat. “It’s unfair you had to give up so much for me, but thank you. I intend to keep that promise.”

“And who are you talking to?”

Mai. She stood at the top of the steps up from the apartment, head cocked, arms folded, wrapped in a long, black cardigan pinned closed. The hem of dark blue party dress peeked below it.  
  
“Myself.” He didn’t intend for the irony and it caught him off-guard. He choked a laugh.

“Oh? Feeling better?” She tentatively joined him at the balcony, running her fingers against the slate balustrade with the air of suspicious nonchalance one adopts when approaching a nervous cat before bundling it into a carrier to take for shots. He turned back to the view with a noncommittal grunt. When she got to within arm's reach Mai pounced with the proverbial towel, tutting and swiveled him back to face her scrutiny.

“No. You're not.” she said. Her eyes tracing the purple circles under his own. "It's your birthday. You're supposed to be sad you're getting old - not brooding over your responsibilities.” She cupped his cheek, and to his surprise with her thumb wiped away a tear. He’d been crying? Just from the cold, surely? "Still, good to know the emotional constipation has somewhat eased.”

“What makes you believe I’ve been ‘brooding over my responsibilities’?”

“As if you act like you have time to worry about anything else.”

“And I do?”

“If you remember to share the weight a little, you might.”

A twinkle of admonition shone in her eye. But as appointed King of both worlds it _was_ his responsibility to brood. Yes, they'd all volunteered to protect their home, but when the executive decisions needed to be made their eyes all turned to him. In those moments he’d feel the whole world staring on, too, hidden beyond the glare of the spotlight. Now, in this quiet moment he had but one pair of eyes on him. They were different. Not a "what's next" but only asking him to "be here". Trunks' could drop the brave face.

He exhaled slowly to ground himself, almost a sigh, and accepted her offer.

With only the slightest of hesitations he handed her the red handkerchief he'd been thumbing. She didn't flinch at the what he knew as years-old dried blood and sweat, or pass comment on the blasted tatters barely holding together in places. Instead Mai studied it carefully, mapping each fray of the relic with gentle fingertips.

An unvoiced question formed on her lips, not quite knowing where to start, but Trunks knew.

"He was thirty-one. I never asked how thirty-one he was but..."

Mai gave the slightest of nods, not wanting to disturb the reverence. "...Now you're thirty-two. I didn't know he gave you this."

"Only half. It was his Mom's first. He shouldn't have even given me this much..." _To remember me by. Thank you, little me. Be good and live it well, okay?_ He stroked down a frayed edge lifting in the rooftop breeze against Mai's palm. "I took the more damaged half just in case. Mom gave him her scarf to wear when they left so he could keep his own mom's safe. For the longest time I was scared Whis might confiscate it if anyone found out. I forgot to mention I had it, I guess."

The last part was a lie, he’d kept it secret on purpose, but evidently Mai was willing to let him have it. She peered up at him with warmth, folding the scarf piece back across his palm and pressing his fingers around it. "And so you've been patiently waiting for something terrible to happen all year?" she said.

"...Yes."

“Despite Zamasu not existing in this timeline and all danger long gone?”

“I suppose...”

"You silly goose." She buried her face into his neck and he gladly accepted the embrace. “I’m sorry. That was harsh of me.”

He closed his eyes, inhaling the camomile of her hair, sweet with the jasmine plants near them both. “No, you’re right.” He spoke just above her ear. “It’s stupid but I, the me’s all over are a magnet for trouble and I thought--”

“-- _We're_ the magnet. Whatever nonsense we have to deal with, we’re here for you, okay?” There would be no arguing.

“Okay.”

He drifted back to the view, reassured, turning to the balcony as more lights flickered on, the ebb and flow of the city’s genki calming as people settled into their evening routines. The temperature was dropping now and he was really feeling the lack of jacket, _warm_ ing himself with greater effort.

Mai took his arm (with the coolness of her hand he assumed more for her warmth than his comfort) and rested her head against his shoulder, watching the same city trundle by.

But she couldn't feel the view he way he could, not alone.

Trunks closed his eyes to focus on reaching out a connection to Mai, searching for any part of her ki willing to _share_. He didn't have to wait long as she settled further against him, happily enveloped by his aura and reaching subconsciously herself, and gently fed the sensation of ki to prevent her startling and breaking the connection. He'd done this with her plenty of times before, but usually in her workshop illustrating the various successes and failures of her ki-manipulation prototypes or naturally when wrapped in each other’s arms and drinking the other in. Not for a long time with the sky above them and the world at their feet, and never when this open. Those days of clumsily trying to impress her with his abilities had long-gone, their relationship as solid and honest as it had ever been.

And in the quiet and growing dark, this hidden side of the world began to shine and sing to Mai.

“You forget,” she said, “it really is everywhere…”

“M-hm.”

Without time pressure or a solder in hand Mai was free to experiment. She waved her fingers through the whispering tendrils of Trunks’ greater ki. In its wake, her metallic and raw-jewelled ki left vortices in his own. On recognising her, the spinning and giddy mist came to attention and tracked her down. Trunks did much the same, giving into the same impulse and kissing her cheek.

She laughed. “Glad to know all of you still likes me.”

“Hard to believe I know, but I’m not completely self-absorbed.” He hugged her around the waist and stooped to to align their views. “For instance. That -” he pointed down to a muddy ki halfway up the building in front of them tasting of ash, the sharp cling of fall bracken, and what he knew up close gave a sluggish and sloppy impression “- is one Mr Zirkana.”

“That old miser? No wonder you’re not a fan.” Mai then made the same observation Trunks had. “I thought he lived in the building at the end of the block?”

“He does. But he’s been down in that apartment every evening and some nights for two weeks and I am mightily curious as to whose place it is. Any guesses?”

“That’s snooping.”

“I can’t help it!”

But Mai couldn’t chide him for long when presented with a puzzle. “...Is it the lady who shouts at you for dying your hair?”  
  
Trunks appraised the second ki. Warm and new and earthy, like the first sun of spring in the Central Steppes. Too green for the opinionated widower draped in furs in all weather. “I don’t think so. They’d make a perfect pair, though.”

Mai fully wrapped herself in Trunks’ arms and took in the wider view, the haze of auras rainbows in oil on water, full with countless flecks of light and texture as far as the mind could comprehend below them. “There’s so many, and this is everyone...”

"Well, nearly everyone.” Mai hummed her confusion and Trunks dropped his bombshell. "I'm pretty sure _some_ people in our apartment are suppressing."

"Oh!" Their connection flickered with her surprise. "You noticed."

"I presume you hadn't invited only Pilaf to pop in and out of existence all evening.”

Mai tutted. “That fuzzer must be on the fritz again..."

Trunks let himself feel smug. He’d suspected a party was why she'd been tidying up behind him all day and had shooed him outside to ‘enjoy the sunset’. Whoever else had come was doing a great job suppressing their ki, and it was a genuine shame Mai's ki-fuzzer had malfunctioned.

"Please play along,” she said. “Goten slipped from the step-ladder hanging a banner and l'm sure he wants the bruise to be worth it."

“There’s a banner?”  
  
Her hand shot to her mouth. “I said nothing.”

Laughter escaped him them; Mai’s earnest self-reproach over something so trivial given everything else they could be worrying about surprised him, but it shouldn’t have. He needed to let himself care about the little things, like banners and bruises and cantankerous old men finding love again, as they were the things that made the world worth worrying about. His greatest fear had not materialised, he could afford to be selfish for a while. But it was so difficult not to imagine the little lights extinguishing, colour gone from the world...

As though hearing his thoughts Mai leant back into his chest, a sensation distracting him, wrestling him to meet her contentment.

“It’s a little late to ask I know, but are you okay with this? I can send everyone home. They’d understand.”

Trunks sucked through his teeth in a noisy grimace. Mai held her breath, before understanding he was teasing and batted at him. He untangled himself to face her.

“A quiet night in with the people who care about me the most sounds exactly like what I need right now. It’s perfect, thank you.”

Mai’s relief was palpable as a pulse through her. He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, much like she had done for him earlier, and she took his hand in her own to press her face to it, lightly kissing the soft base of his thumb. Her skin and breath was warm, hot even, which meant his hand was cold again through distraction. He _warm_ ed it for her, heat rippling up through his arm to the tips of his fingers where it verged on painful for him, such was the jar in temperature, but she nuzzled in closer.

"Now I'm all cosy."

"Good."

And it was, but the pull of the world around them was too great, Trunks' habit from the year still looping in his head.

“Ah-ah.” She turned his head back to her, pulling him down, mirroring him with a hand on his cheek. “Leave it. You’ve worried long enough.”

She tiptoed, and brushed her lips against his.

That lightest of touches sent a bolt through him. He pulled back to savour it, to get lost in those brown eyes, to let his heart open and rekindle their connection. His ki held its distance, tentatively coiling through Mai’s in a light embrace, but her own gladly accepted him, tying knots to get close to him, too. There was no way he could keep her out for long.

He let his eyes close and went in for his own kiss; firmer, longer this time. A growing warm tension in his chest reflected the neediness he tried to keep at bay, but his hand found its way to the back of her neck in a gentle possessiveness regardless. Her ki snuck passed his lax defences, spilling its secrets to him. He instinctively mirrored the glinting intricate eddies and beats for her.

“Is that my heart?” she whispered.

“M-hm.”

“It’s beautiful.” He felt her lips tighten under him. A smile. “Is that because it’s your interpretation or--”

“It’s the truth. Well, maybe there’s a little of me...”

He let his hands run down her spine to resting in the small of her back. Mai stepped closer against him, Trunks not intending to apply the instistant pressure but grateful she responded nonetheless. She lay her elbows on his shoulders, one hand tousling his hair at the crown. That pulled him in further, their kiss finally connecting without withdrawal.

A sweet and delicate taste hung on her lips, the fragrant sugar delights she would have been grazing on inside as she worked all evening. She breathed him in, her shoulders sagging with the release and he followed suit. The tension in his temples vanished with the frown he was far too used to carrying. A lightness opened along his shoulders and below his ears.

Their ki danced a two-step, their hearts keeping time and working in tandem to hold them together. He felt hers dotted around them as fireflies asserting itself in his own greater pool, both perfectly content to swirl, and through her he sensed her trust and comfort in being enveloped. She wasn’t lost in him but supported by him. And today, as always, he was carried by her.

A true breeze licking at them and giving form to the growing passion. Her chest rose and fell in an endless contented sigh that became all her could hear. The way she teased his bottom lip consumed him and he had to battle to get the whole of her back, a desperation that deepened their embrace. He could lift her, take them both away someplace quiet --

A beep roused him from his fantasy. The text alert on Mai’s phone buried in her cardigan wrap.

“Ah.” She broke their kiss, the disappointment in her voice mirroring his dropping stomach. “We’re being summoned.”

As though in agreement, Mewsli trotted past to mewl expectantly at them both from the top stair, even the nook now too cold for him.

But Trunks, desperate to stay a little longer in the small world he and Mai had created, pressed her forehead to his, locked his hands at the small of her back and hoped she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to step away.

“Let them wait a minute.” he said.

She shook her head. “I was only coming to fetch you in the first place. Any longer would be rude.” Still, she kissed him again. He could only hold himself still knowing if he responded he’d refuse to go back inside for sure.

And after a long, peaceful moment both their eyes were open, if heavy. Her soft smile matched the diffuse city light reflected in her eyes.

“Do you feel better?” She hadn’t spoken coyly, though she may as well have. He was finally back in his own body, in the present, with her, the only reality that should concern him now. He had found time to lose himself and only good things had happened. Yes. He felt better.

“I hate that I’m so predictable.”

“Lucky you are.” Mai unhooked his hands from her back, but held them tightly, their fingers interlocking. She leant into them to reach his nose for one, last, noisy peck of a kiss. “Happy birthday.” He found himself returning her smile in earnest.

As she led him down the stairs, back to business by reminding him to act surprised, he patted his pants pocket to check that the handkerchief was still there.

_To remember me by. Thank you, little me. Be good and live it well, okay?_

Trunks did remember him, he always had, but now he could finally commemorate him in a different way - by honouring the man in a future he never got to have. Trunks could still be a good leader but also lead a good life. Everyone else had been doing so, and they’d been patiently waited for him to follow suit. Mai, in some ways, waiting patiently most of all.

“Mai?”

“Hm?” She turned mere feet from the door, light from the apartment’s floor-to-ceiling windows spilling out and bestowing on her an ethereal glow. He averted his eyes, his burst of resolve to ask her faltering.

“Nothing. Thank you.”

She went inside first.

He wouldn’t ask her today at least. Maybe not tomorrow either, but soon. After all, they had  their entire futures ahead of them now.


End file.
